


Angels we have heard on high

by FlabbergastedBanana



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Harry Potter is Death, Immortal Harry Potter, Master of Death Harry Potter, Older Harry, Other, Wings, Young Tom Riddle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:15:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23959780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlabbergastedBanana/pseuds/FlabbergastedBanana
Summary: Someone is watching over Tom, almost like a Guardian Angel, Tom appreciates this. Death is amused.
Relationships: Death/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 2
Kudos: 233





	Angels we have heard on high

**Author's Note:**

> My writing is shit. *dies in a hole

Tom never heard him. He could never see him. He could not smell him, but he knew he was there. He could feel it. It was something he felt in his very soul, in his bones, he knew that whatever this was, it came for him. 

Only for him, no one else. It made him _special._ He was unique. He was _different._

┬┴┬┴├┬┴┬┴

_Love of mine, someday you will die._

_But I'll be close behind and I'll follow you into the dark._

_No blinding light or tunnels to gates of white._

_Just our hands clasped so tight, waiting for the hint of a spark._

┬┴┬┴├┬┴┬┴

“-you’re worthless Riddle! Everyone knows that you're just another Freak! No one will ever want you!” Jimmy screamed. Someone gasped.

Everything froze. Time stopped, the dew on the grass started to rise, almost as if time was _shifting_. But that couldn't be, could it? Time could not be controlled- it was endless and uncontrollable and flowing, but yet-

It had. And just as quickly resumed.

Freak. 

_Coward._

_Nothing._

_Worthless._

_Freak._

He was _not_ a _freak._ He was not a freak, _notafreakneverafreak hewasnormal normal normal normal-_

Wings. 

They were everywhere. Stretching endlessly, and seemingly never ending. Somehow, he just knew. He just knew that all of those years, when he felt _something_ , this was it. He didn't make it up. Nothing mattered because he was right. He was _rightrightrightright._

The kids were screaming, their brains would forever be scarred from this memory. They would forever remember this day. The day they antagonized him. They would not recall anything else. Just the feeling of _terror_ running through their veins. Because they were only human, and the human brain can only comprehend so much. They were so very fragile.

So when Jimmy screamed, he knew he was going to die one day, and that when he died, no one would miss him. He was insignificant to everything. He was nothing, and he would be forgotten. Jimmy would not be mourned, and life would carry on, but it was just _so pointless._ It was all so _pointless._ Why was he even still alive? Why not end it _now_? He would die one day, and even though that day was not today-that Jimmy Filcer would die from a heart attack at the age of 37, his brain could not process how, but he _knew._

┬┴┬┴├┬┴┬┴

_If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied._

_And illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs._

_If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks._

_Then I'll follow you into the dark._

┬┴┬┴├┬┴┬┴

The children lay on the grass, tears of blood streaming down their faces. The being, if you could call it that, was smiling. It wasn't a nice smile. Tom liked that though. Tom smiled a not-nice smile back.

All the people with nice smiles were bad. Because, behind their pretty smiles, were their wants, their sharp teeth, and they didn’t _actually_ like you. They smiled because it made them seem less dangerous, but really, it was the _nice ones you had to watch out for._

When the being noticed Tom, it’s _smile got_ impossibly wider. Tom kept staring and staring, because, _how could you not?_

He seemed to be everywhere, he was everything. He was the beginning, the ending, the beginning of the ending and the ending of the beginning. He was the sun, the moon, and the stars. He was the earth, and the trees, and the ocean. He was the storm and the sky and the planets. He was Death and Life. He was Everything. 

Tom could see him. He could see wings, wings that stretched on and on, bigger than any house he’s ever seen. They were white, and they were _beautiful._ There seemed to be endless amounts of them, he could count six pairs- _six pairs of_ **_wings,_** and each feather seemed to glow with ethereal beauty.

┬┴┬┴├┬┴┬┴

_In Catholic school as vicious as Roman rule._

_I got my knuckles bruised by a lady in black._

_And I held my tongue as she told me,_

_Son, fear is the heart of love, so I never went back._

┬┴┬┴├┬┴┬┴

The being, though Tom more thought he was an angel, because of his wings. He was confused though, why would an angel come to visit him? He was only Tom. Tom Riddle, the freak from the orphanage. The kid that no one wanted. So why would _anyone, much less_ an _angel,_ visit him?

He always felt his presence though. When he was five years old, he first remembered it. He was being beaten up by kids, different kids, when he felt him. 

When he appeared, he was just a shadow. No wings, no Earth, no sun, no moon. He made everything feel empty, life was meaningless, and everything was worthless. What was the point of trying, only to fail? What was the point of living, only to die?

But the boys, and girl, slowly backed away from Tom. He didn't know it at the time, but his shadow had grown. It was towering over him, and it had glowing red eyes, and all of the children knew that shadows _don't_ have colors. But Death had saved him. And he saved him again and again, and _again,_ and he would continue to save him, simply because it was not boredom. _Anything_ is better than boredom.

He would continue to save Tom, and that amused the being, because a long time ago, he knew, this child, this scrawny _thing_ was the focus of his hate. He existed for so long, so many _millennia,_ it seemed he had forgotten to care. 

┬┴┬┴├┬┴┬┴

_You and me we've seen everything to see._

_From Bangkok to Calgary and the soles of your shoes._

_Are all worn down._

_The time for sleep is now._

_But it's nothing to cry about._

_'Cause we'll hold each other soon in the blackest of rooms._

┬┴┬┴├┬┴┬┴

“Hello Tom.” The voice was unexpectedly warm, and sounded almost fond. The entity was grinning the same grin at Tom, and each time he looked, it seemed to _stretch._

And Tom smiled, and it wasn't nice, or pretty. And that was okay. 


End file.
